Jan. 1st, 2011

duckduckthrall: (Default)
Blank white page.

Who gets any writing done while staring at a blank white page?

Maybe, just maybe, if it was purple, it would not look nearly so intimidating. I mean, you could come into this, having an outline and a vague idea of what to write, and still look at the blank white page, and have that feeling of dread in your stomach.

What have I gotten myself into? 350,000 words, in 365 days. A little under 1000 words a day. It is, of course, possible, as I had to write much more than that when I participated in NaNoWriMo (Note to self: Do not write out NaNoWriMo in its entirety just to pad out this document. No matter how tempting it might seem).

Looking at 350,000 words as a giant glomp makes the task seem insurmountable. As my mom says, you cannot look at the plate of all the sandwiches you will need to eat for the rest of your life and think about when you will find the time and stomach space to eat them. You simply pluck a sandwich off the top, do not look down at the growing pile of them beneath you, and start eating. In other words, you take it in chunks. Each day as it comes. Each 1000 word sandwich, as it were.

Of course, it would certainly help if one of the cats did not occasionally come by and walk across the keyboard, either starting applications, opening games, or locking my desktop.

All this talk of sandwiches is making crave cheese, which is utterly ridiculous, because I cannot possibly be hungry after all of the throwing up and dizziness earlier. So, I should not be mentally walking into the kitchen, opening the fridge, and stealing a few Babybels before ambling slowly back to work. Because I'm so sure that the cheese would help the writing process and not hinder it. Lactose intolerance, gastroparesis, I really should not be eating anything at all. Especially not something solid.

*runs away to the fridge like some sort of cheese-hoarding rodent*

So, it's now a few hours later. I totally ate that cheese. Was it a good idea? No, no, it was not. That cheese did not stay down. I don't think I like cheese any more.

It's also now the next day in January, and I am totally rushing to finish this before I go to bed. Because I do not want to have to add today (yesterday)'s unfinished word count to tomorrow (today)'s already too-large word count.

Which brings us right back around to our original topic. My original topic. Writing almost a thousand words a day for a year. During this time, I am *pretty* sure I will either (a) forget how to write a coherent sentence, having dumped all my words out, or (b) noticed significant patterns in my writing. Patterns like writing pretty much how I talk. And apparently, I talk in sentence fragments. Oh, how professional.

But wait, is my intention really to become a better writer, semantically? Can you really be much of an editor if you write a stream of consciousness in the form of a stream of consciousness, rather than, say, in essay format, or like that of an academic article? Wait. I don't think you can write an academic article about a stream of consciousness. Who would you even cite?

So, does an editor need to write the way she expects other people to write? Well, I suppose not. Unless someone hires me to proofread their own stream of consciousness. My point here is, unless I'm writing professionally or academically, I don't really see a point to making my brain mumblings into professional, non-sentence-fragmented text.

Thus, the idea is to keep your professional writing and your free writing separate. Keep your sentence fragments and awesome idioms in your free writing. Don't bring anything but your grammatical prowess to your professional writing. Well, grammatical prowess and a point. Your writing doesn't mean anything if it doesn't have a point. People don't get published in journals for not having a point. Oh, who am I kidding, that happens all the time. The sheer number of articles I read in university that went absolutely nowhere splendidly was astounding.

And now I'm veering off topic again. Eat your sandwiches one bite at a time. Don't bite off more than you can chew. Which is great advice for someone who has *already* signed up for the insane version of getyourwordsout. That's the dictionary definition of biting off more than you can chew. Or it would be if dictionaries did phrases.

This is not turning into anything more exciting than it was when I started. I blame the fact that Ruy is watching The Office loudly in the background, and I find it very hard to not listen, and I cannot write well and listen at the same time. How is this show still on the air? I mean, it's not that it's not a good show. It's just very samey. Michael does something crazy, and people talk and DAMN IT I CANNOT CONCENTRATE HERE. Also, it makes me tense, and I don't turn out good verbiage when I'm tense. Though apparently I do whip out the vocabulary words.

The other thing is the cats, who are mercifully occupied right now, but the minute I finish typing this sentence extolling their virtues, will return to waltzing across my keyboard or chewing on my fingers. Oh, and someone just ran into a box. I'm betting it was Pegasus. *gallop gallop gallop gallop CLUNK* *gallop gallop gallop CRASH* *gallop gallop gallop gallop sound of plastic bags being run into and played with*

Nearly there. I can see the ending. Of today. Which I should have finished writing over an hour ago. So, actually, I see the ending behind me. Glimmering. And the next ending glimmering somewhere tomorrow. Once I can think of what I'm going to talk about tomorrow. "Today, I thought about packing a box. We don't have any boxes."


Word Count: 1013

February 2012

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